


Honorable Mention

by FullElven



Series: Subliminal [3]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Addiction, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, F/M, Torture, implied rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 19:56:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1954233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FullElven/pseuds/FullElven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raineigh's delusions and hallucinations of her dead Sun King had stopped for months along with the last vestiges of her mana addiction. But when she's taken prisoner by the Kor'kron during the Siege of Orgrimmar, she's forced to rely on old habits to save herself. With a promotion for her sacrifice, Champion Raineigh Dravenholdt finds that not only have the realistic hallucinations returned, but something about her seems to have changed as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honorable Mention

**Author's Note:**

> Raineigh has never been in a relationship with Kael'thas Sunstrider. She's never talked with him even. Though her noble house had been retainers to the Sunstriders, and they frequented their parties, they didn't have any sort of personal relationship with them. 
> 
> Raineigh's relationship with Kael'thas is fully, 100%, imaginary.

Thunder rumbled far off in the distance, muted by the thick stone walls of the senior officer’s quarters, the air outside thick with humidity. Summers in Silvermoon were typically mild, cool even, for as far north as it was on the continent. Not by any means, Northrend, Silvermoon was still fairly north though within the Eastern Kingdoms, leaving the mid-months just warm enough to be comfortable to travel without bundling up.  
  
Today was different, however. Thick, billowing storm clouds blotted out the blue sky and cast it a deep, cobalt grey. The bottoms of those clouds were tattered, scarred, much like the war-torn landscape they traveled over, reflecting well the kingdom beneath them. Electricity could easily be felt on the air, the very energy of the coming storm building and building until no one could doubt it would be a volatile one.

 

Raineigh had left her window open, however, allowing the breeze that was quickly picking up to a gust, to enter her private room and fill it with the earthy scent of the atmosphere outside. Papers rustled on the old, hand-me-down wooden desk, weighed down by tomes both magical and religious in nature. The feathers on her quill danced, carefree and wild in the wind, next to her closed, half-empty ink pot.

 

The room itself had fairly little personality to it, beyond just what little things you could pick up on about the Paladin from her habits. She hadn’t bothered attempting to decorate, leaving dirty laundry strewn across the marble stone-work where a nice crimson and gold throw-rug could have left a nice touch. Where instead of portraits of family and friends, she left letters, paperwork, and research haphazardly strewn with a careless and chaotic organization that only she understood.

 

The bed was well slept in, enough wrinkles in the sheet and comforter to suggest that it was rarely, if ever, made. Her gold and red plate boots remained at the doorway, her left one standing while the right one hand toppled over and was left to its fate. The matching remainder of her armor had found the tabletop in various positions, her longsword and shield taking up one of the two hand-crafted oak-wood chairs.

 

Steam rose and heated the small, modest bathroom as the shower ran strong, the mirror coated in a fine layer of moisture. Raineigh left vivid green eyes closed as she pressed her forehead to the cool, smooth stone wall and let the hot water run over her sore back, her flesh there twisted with unforgiving, fresh scar tissue.

 

Phantom aches pulsed through old and new injuries alike, forsaking any notion of being healed and reminding her that they’d had happened. Joints complained, muscles clenched, and through all of it, a familiar sickness, a _hunger_ , washed over if as if she’d been so starved that she would be ill if she had to wait a moment longer to sate it. Forcing a deep breath, she tried to calm the nausea that came, the disorientation and swim of her head, but to no avail.

 

Her entire body trembled from the stress, the strain, as her appetites made her feel as if her skin was on fire until the spray of the water was too much and she nearly stumbled out of the tub trying to get away from both sensation and memory before they managed to swallow her whole.

 

\----

 

_“Dravenholdt, Raineigh Danae, Knight, 2814-94022-DEK.” It sounded robotic, hollow even, coming from her chapped lips like some sort of recording. She’d repeated it so many times, the sequence no longer even sounded like true words, but just a random collection of sounds, thrown together carelessly._

_The orc laughed once, dryly, not in humor but in sheer, disturbing satisfaction of the punishment he would get to carry out. The leather cord was thick, black, and already shined with her blood from the previously lashings. It glinted in the low candlelight of the damp, dank dungeon as he let it unfurl from his meaty grasp. She tried to will her body to relax, to take the upcoming blows easily, but he made her wait. He twirled it in hand, slapped it in the air just to see her jump from the loud crack from it._

_Then, when she was clearly trembling, her nerves frayed from waiting, he beat her back raw again. Her screams echoed off from the rock face, out through the steel door, and through the bars of her cell. Warm blood trickled down the dip of her spine, following it down her bare buttock, and continuing to mix with the dried fluid and flaking blood on her thigh from the abuses she’d suffered earlier. There wasn’t a part of her that didn’t hurt, inside or out, and the continued beatings threatened to take her consciousness._  
  
“I will ask you again, Blood Elf,” the meticulous orc whispered so very close to her ear, his robes brushing her hot, sensitive flesh and making her flinch away. “What were your orders for once you passed the gate?”

_“Dravenholdt, Raineigh Danae. Knight—“_

_The pain that interrupted her was unlike that of the whip. It burned where the whip had torn. It lasted, where the whip had hit, stung for a moment, and quit. It was flame, pure and true, and she could taste the magic on her tongue as it scorched her skin every bit as much as if she’d worked the spell herself._

_While the scent of burned flesh rose in the air, her senses buzzed with the forbidden fruit that was that sweet, succulent mana. He burned her, and she found herself silent save for a hushed breath as her head lulled. This thick, calloused fingers gripped her cheeks, the large size of his palm entirely dwarfing her face. His strength was bruising, the same as it had been on her thigh earlier._

_The same as it had been with all of them as they’d tried to break her by taking her._

_She spat in his face, it more blood than spit, dehydrated as she was for as long as she’d been left to rot down there. The action returned a hard punch that undoubtedly broke her nose, the near instant spray of crimson along with the audible—or perhaps imagined—crunch noise accompanied the vision-blurring pain. Still, heady from the arcane she yet sensed in the air, she chuckled. She outright laughed even while the taste of more copper filled her mouth._

_“Something funny, elf, or you finally lost it?”_

_Though she opened her mouth to reply, more laughter came out, loud and maniacal, giving her Kor’kron torturer pause. Punching her again only resulted in a slight interval of silence before the laughter began again, and his temper flaring, he reached up to grab the cuffs around her wrists and lift them off the hook._

_Hoisting her over his shoulder, she ignore the pounding of her face and the throbbing of her own shoulders, her arms falling limply against his back. Her heart thudded in anticipation as her mouth ran dry, her stomach flip-flopped with anxiety as she lay one her palms carefully against his back and closed her eyes._

_“Band’or shorel’aran,” she whispered before she gave in to those hunger pangs and tapped into the raw mana that coursed through his body. It entered her like a hurricane, wild and unrefined, the faintest hint of demonic taint causing it to leave an almost charred taste in her mouth. It juiced her enough, even as the cursemark on her chest began to burn that excess mana away violently, but she pushed through it to pull even more of his mana from him. Again and again she tapped into him, leaving him disoriented and lightheaded. His grip started to slip, and that seemed to be the opening she was looking for._

_“Burn.”_

_And burn he did._

_The former mage turned that stolen magic back on him, setting him aflame and continuing to shower him in flame well after she was dropped and his screams died off for deadly silence._

\----

 

Strong arms wrapped around her tiny torso, “You’re home now, Raineigh. You’re home.”the deep voice spoke against her ear. She didn’t question it, _couldn’t_ question it, as her stomach contents were violently forced back up and out of her body across the bathroom floor. “It’s alright,” the voice continued, rubbing her back as she retched. “You’re going to be fine.”

 

She attempted to open her eyes, but her vision was doubled and blurred, and she forced them shut before she could retch again. The sound of the tap turning on the sink, and water running soon after, sounded far too loud in her tapered ears. Something cold and damp touched her cheek and she cried out, slapping weakly at it, but insistent it wiped her face clean. It wasn’t until she found herself being hoisted into strong arms and against a clothed, firm chest, that she realized she’d been laying on the floor the entire time.


End file.
